


Stormy Nights

by Damnitsjustsam



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Angst, Comfort, Comforting John, Comforting Sherlock Holmes, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, John - Freeform, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmare, One Shot, PTSD John, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Sherlock, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Thunderstorms, Triggers, sherlock and john - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 13:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14426205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damnitsjustsam/pseuds/Damnitsjustsam
Summary: This is just a little crappy kinda cute little short fic.A thunderstorm happens over the top of 221b Baker Street.It triggers John to have a nightmare, and then comfort comes from Sherlock.





	Stormy Nights

**Author's Note:**

> (Right so this is my first fanfiction on here and I know it's not great but I just wanted it to be out there)
> 
> *Disclaimer* obviously I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters and this is strictly my brain making up words.

The storm had just started to racket over head, bouncing off the high buildings all around Baker Street. These bangs and flashes merely just interrupted me thinking, but even as a child I was never scared of thunderstorms. Somehow I was always more scared of the normal variety of storms, the storms with the wind which tries to blow through the brick walls and the rain trying to push through the windows, but the bangs and crashes of the sky accompanied with light illuminating the clouds never bothered me; It is nice to be drawn out of my mind occasionally by these things seeing as thunderstorms are not exactly a frequent occurrence in the middle of London, nor even in England.  
  
John had gone up to bed before the storm had broken the very early morning silence and was presumably fast asleep, not knowing the state of the sky up above. However, being brought out of my head after a rather large crash and flash there was a noise up above, at first I thought I was imagining it, however not even 10 seconds later there was another noise this one louder than the last.  
  
I shot up, batting away any doubts that I should not investigate this noise, John had never shown any type of fear towards storms. Slowly I climbed the stairs only to hear the noises get louder and more frequent, they weren’t muttering or moans or even john being on the phone however, they were whimpers, being accompanied with the fast rustle of sheets. He was having a nightmare, presumidally due to the echoing bangs and the memories of Afghanistan being brought to life in his head.  
  
I don’t think to knock, well he is asleep anyway, and slowly turn the door handle unlatching the door. When I push my head though the door it is worse than what I was expecting. John was entangled in sheets and the duvet, much resembling the tightness of a straight jacket only getting worse with the steadily increasing thrashing of his body, his face white and eyes scrunched up against the things in his head and beads of sweat sticking his hair to his forehead and body to the sheets.  
  
I don’t pause, I go straight over to John in two strides to wake him, this is not a dream that a piece of music played on violin will sort like some of John’s other dreams, this was too big. I gently shake his shoulders willing him to wake calmly and not rise into panic. It took just under a minute for John to wake, jumping back from me as far as he could, albeit being trapped in a bundle of sheets, and he opened his eyes. He relaxed slightly when he saw me but his head was still thinking too much for my liking, I turned to go get a glass of water for him.  
  
Shakily John said “don’t go”, slightly faltering he continued “please”.  
  
It was almost a whisper but that in itself shows the severity of the dream.  
  
“I will be back in a minute okay?” I looked at John for acknowledgement, he merely nodded once and closed his eyes.  
  
I took the stairs two by two down to the kitchen to get a large glass of water, placing it on the table and quickly walking to my room to get the duvet as John’s was covered in sweat and would be uncomfortable for him to try and sleep under. I was not needing it, I wasn’t going to sleep tonight anyway.  
  
By the time I’d gotten upstairs with the duvet and the glass of water John had partly sat up against the headboard and looked into the corner of the room wincing slightly at each noise and light change. I gave him the glass of water and put the duvet at the end of the bed then sat down next to him, close enough for John to feel comfort from the proximity but not freak out from being too cornered. John finished gulping down some water and just was still half led and half sat up.  
  
“I didn’t know you were scared of storms John” I said quietly.  
  
“I’m not” he quietly snapped, John to a long breath in, “I am”.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“I thought you knew from your deductions but were too polite to say any on my fears” John said truthfully still with a undercurrent of fear.  
  
“I can’t know every fear, a lot of them yes, but not all of them, I can only deduce from what I observe or am aware of”  
  
John frowned, “didn’t playing the violin help this time?” he asked  
  
I was slightly taken aback, I knew John had nightmares, occasionally I’d hear a few tosses and turns and murmurings which suggested a nightmare so I would just play my violin for half a hour or even a hour until the noises had gone because even when John was awake the violin relaxed him. But I was unaware of the fact that John had made the connection between his nightmares stopping by him waking up and being able to get back to sleep every time he heard me playing downstairs.  
  
“I’m not stupid Sherlock, I know it wasn’t luck that everytime you were awake downstairs and I had a nightmare I woke up to you playing.” He grinned softly. “Thank you for all those times”.  
  
Still somewhat perplexed “you’re welcome John, did it help?”  
  
“Very much so” he looked at me and then to the window where there was still flashes coming at frequent intervals. “They soothe me to sleep again... when I was alone it would take me ages to fall back asleep, that’s if I even managed to” he said pensively.  
  
“Was this one worse than usual?” I spoke gently as another colossal crash consumed the room with noise and made John stiffen and not relax, closing his eyes once again not opening them to see the flash then consume the room shortly after.  
  
I moved closer to John to ground him to reality once again and he sighed and rested his head on my shoulder. It calmed him slightly. I could tell he was on the verge of panic attack and needed a part of another human to keep him from falling through his mind, and my shoulder was what he chose. I stayed completely still for a minute or two and then slowly relaxed into the slightly cushioned headrest. I managed to kick up the duvet from downstairs without moving my torso and flicked off John’s duvet from his pyjama clad body, which was still slightly clammy, and replaced the duvet with mine. The cold brought John out of his head.  
  
“I keep thinking I am back there Sherlock, all the bangs...” John muttered into my shoulder.  
  
“It’s okay, don’t worry, you are in London, at Baker Street, inside our flat, nothing will hurt you here… I promise” I whispered into the top of his head.  
  
Whilst emotions are sometimes beyond me, I am very much aware of those closest to me and what they are feeling the majority of the time and how to somewhat ease those feelings. I see Mycroft’s fear, Mrs Hudson’s pity and happiness, Lestrade’s pain, Molly’s joy and sadness and John’s misery. I understand more emotions when it comes to John than all of the people previously mentioned put together. When John is feeling pain, fear or guilt, comfort tends to be the best way to alleviate this; cups of tea, sitting closer than usual, playing the violin excetera excetera.  
  
“Thank you” he murmured still staring outside.  
  
We stayed still for 45 minutes, just listening to the storm die off, and it has now reduced to only occasional small rumbles.  
  
Out of the blue John broke the silence “are you scared of anything Sherlock?”  
  
I thought for a moment “yes I am” I replied.  
  
“What?” he countered almost immediately but still in the same subdued quiet tone.  
  
I paused, I didn’t know if I could say, but I felt safe, John had let me see one of his fears tonight… “... Moriarty I guess, things happening to those I hold dear, normal storms you know the ones with the wind” John looked up at me “and slightly morbidly, I’m scared of dying but not death”  
  
John nodded and replaced his head to my shoulder, I breathed out unconscious of holding my breath when talking, no one knows all of those, no one had asked him and Mycroft had not deduced. Like I said to John, it’s hard to deduce fears.  
  
“What about you?”  
  
John shifted but didn’t move fully and said “thunderstorms… obviously” he gestured to himself “um… I guess being alone in life, bad things happening to people I care for and death”  
  
I just hummed a non committal noise of acknowledgement.  
  
We just sat in silence for a long time until John’s breathing had steadied and became deeper still leaning on my shoulder. Only then did I allow myself to go into my mind palace to record John's fears and his responses tonight in further detail.  
  
We both woke up as the door slammed with Mrs Hudson as she left at midday to do her weekly shop. Both our necks stiff from not sleeping on a pillow but each others heads. Glancing at each other a grinning somewhat awkwardly after being so vulnerable and honest last night. John suggested we get some breakfast so we trudged downstairs into the kitchen to find the windows open allowing in the fresh rain air and some tea and porridge, obviously Mrs Hudson's doing. 

Things continued as usual for both the boys, yet they were more open with each other, that night did them a world of good for talking and knowing each other further than another human had ever known them. It became a unwritten rule that whenever there was a storm they would share a bed, to comfort each other with a presence and small touches, sometimes staying the night after as well, sometimes a little longer. They knew that they calmed each other down when in the worst situations in their brain. When John had nightmares or found himself sat in baker street but on patrol in Afghanistan, Sherlock played their favourite songs on the violin and clattered softly in the kitchen making tea steadily bringing him home. And when Sherlock got too deep in his head or was agitated beyond his own (healthy) calming mechanisms, John was just there sat next to or near him, occasionally touching a shoulder, knee or ruffling hair, to allow Sherlock to focus on that touch for a little to bring him away from himself. And they continued life, just with more of each other, not even realising how dependant the eventually became on each other and how much they simply loved the company.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to give any advice then please do :)


End file.
